


Love With a Proper Stranger

by Beatriceorme



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 15:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/941360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beatriceorme/pseuds/Beatriceorme





	Love With a Proper Stranger

**“Love with the Proper Stranger”**  
  
  
Life is crazy, you know? A goddamn crazy ride.  
  
Like when you pass a five car pile up on the 405 that would have been you in all that twisted metal if the dog hadn’t whined to go out for the second time that morning making you late again. Like the guy that gave you so much shit in school for being short, drop kicking you into trash cans on a daily basis, is now the guy at the restaurant parking your Lexus?    
  
Life is all just fucking crazy.   
  
I mean, who knew when I stepped into that elevator heading to the 17th floor I’d end up blindfolded, naked except for lube and spit, legs and ass wide open and coming so hard I’d forget my own damn name.  
  
Best fucking dentist appointment I ever missed.  
  
Didn’t notice him when I got on at the lobby. Kept to myself, within myself. Just stood there and observed proper elevator etiquette by blankly staring at the lotto board above the door, confident that my fellow passengers, whoever they were, would recognize their winning numbers with no prompting or need for interaction from me.  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
Like that was really necessary, that jackhammer hiss in my ear. Couldn’t move if I tried, not with that hand strangling my hip, breath searing my skin, strength pressing from behind. Couldn’t and sure as hell didn’t want to move.  
  
“Don’t speak.”  
  
No problem there either. Always had difficulty speaking with a rock hard cock pushing into my crack.  
  
“Don’t worry.”  
  
Now, that was weird. Don’t worry? About what? That the 17th floor and my dentist just passed, and that my gums would miss out on being picked at with sharp pointy things until they bleed and I wouldn’t get to hear the ‘floss regularly or your teeth will become yellow, decayed, rotting nubs’ speech? Now that fingers were tracing the stitching along my zipper, worry and I weren’t even on the same plane of existence.  
  
Should I be concerned about the others packed into the sardine can of an elevator; what they would say? What they would think? Was pretty sure that the lady who probably kept her plastic surgeon in a new Jag every year was too busy checking for cracks in her troweled on make-up to give a rat’s ass about what was going on over in the corner. Likewise with the pizza delivery guy who constantly checked his watch, the IT rep taking a quick nap between floors and ‘emergencies’, the two suits pretending messages sent via Blackberry counted as quality time with the kids, the preppy girl and her wallpaper schtick with the Goth wannabe boyfriend guaranteed to make daddy’s blood pressure boil over, and the old man holding his little rat dog with the razor sharp teeth too tight, making those ugly eyes stick out even more than normal.  
  
Not one fucking glance back my way to see that, under my jacket, my balls and ass both were being blessed with one hellacious massage and I was so close I could taste my after- sex cigarette already.  
  
Well, almost not one. That rat dog never took those bulgy eyes off me. Kinda creepy.  
  
Don’t worry? About what? Not getting my parking ticket validated? Catching crap from the guy who does my laundry? Walking out of here funny with wet boxers?   
  
“I want you, going to take you.”  
  
What was I thinking about?  
  
“You are _mine_.”  
  
Don’t remember much of the rest of the elevator ride. Mind not on simple shit like that. Mind not on anything else but floating on the ecstasy of his touch.  
  
Sorry. I’ll cut the romance novel crap.   
  
Didn’t notice the others getting off floor by floor until it was just me and him and the Beatles singing about Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band over the Musak. Came back to reality in a fucking flash though, when the lights went out and tender hands turned strict.  
  
“What the -”  
  
“You will do what I say, when I say it. No questions, no complaints.”  
  
So many of both of those, I couldn’t pick just one.  
  
“Get this fucking thing off my -”  
  
Never got close to the blindfold, arms pulled back and held tight, me dancing on tip-toes to lessen the sting.  
  
“Didn’t I tell you not to speak?”  
  
Thought of something to worry about then.  
  
“You are mine to do with as I please. And what would please me most right now is to see you naked. Naked and begging me to fuck you, drive into your ass repeatedly, taking you, possessing you, devouring you. All of which I most assuredly _will_ do. I plan on fucking you. Fucking you long, fucking you hard. Fucking you until I’m sated, and your body is limp, spent and utterly used. And there is nothing you can to do to dissuade me. Now, do you have any questions?”  
  
Thought it prudent to just shake my head no.  
  
“Good. Let’s go.”  
  
Must admit at this point I was a big jumbled mess of conflicting emotions. On the one hand, as I was forcefully pushed forward and down the hall, my sneakers stumbling across the thick carpet, I was royally pissed off at my dick for getting me into this. Then again, the heat of his body close, the strength and surety of his grip, the scent of CK One and maleness had me wanting, _needing_ , all that he described even though my head was complaining that listening to my dick was what put me here in the first place.  
  
By the time we stopped and I heard a lock click shut, my brain stepped up to take back control, sending my dick to the corner for Time Out.  
  
“Hey, don’t know that I want to do -”  
  
The first brush of his lips was sweet. Soft and reverent in the giving. At the end of our fifth kiss, I was breathless, shaking, bloody and my brain had left for an extended trip to Acapulco leaving behind what was best suited to handle this situation. And let me tell you, my dick certainly rose to the occasion.  
  
“God, you are good at this!”   
  
What started as a full out assault, I managed to turn into a suck fest, slowly pulling his tongue in and out of our joined mouths to the rhythm I was hoping to recreate real soon.   
  
“Absolutely phenomenal!”  
  
“So I’ve been told.” My smile was lopsided and swollen. “Only not so much here recently.”  
  
“Good.”  
  
That kiss was simple, straight forward. Not doubt at all what it meant – a kiss to mark his territory. I shivered with the implications.  
  
“You OK? Something wrong? Cold?”  
  
The blindfold kept my dramatic eye roll secret. “Not naked yet. Or begging.”  
  
“What? Oh, right. I shall rectify that fully clothed situation immediately.”  
  
Too slow. Moving too goddamn slow! One button at a time, a pause to caress and sigh between. Seemed he’d forgotten the grab and grope in the elevator, but my balls’ memory was just fine and right then they were so tight a bounced quarter would’ve flown 10 yards.  
  
“For Christ’s sake! Let me -”  
  
“No!”  
  
Three hands shoves and a smart slap to the ass clued me in on his determination to conduct the unveiling alone. Resigned to his tease, I raised my arms and heaved my best long suffering sigh. “Rectify away.”  
  
Thought I had the easy job. All I had to do was just stand there while he did all the work. Jacket, shirt, tie. Wasn’t until he knelt in front of me, slipping off sneakers and socks, and his breath mingled with the fire sizzling from my crotch, did I realize I should have demanded hazard pay.  
  
“Oh, shit.”  
  
Fucking knees cut out on me when he went for the button on my jeans.  
  
“Whoa, there!”  
  
His hands, palms flat on my hips, weren’t really helping the problem.  
  
“Steady yourself. Grab my shoulders.”  
  
Oh, yeah, thanks! That was _so_ much better.   
  
“Gym?”  
  
“Daily.”  
  
“Shows.”  
  
Muscles, I could feel them move and bunch, work and sway against my clenching fingers. So blinded (no pun intended) with all that t-shirt-contained power, never noticed my jeans were gone.   
  
“Jesus, Mary and fucking Joseph.”  
  
He must have sat back, moved away, stood up, something ‘cause I lost contact, hands falling empty at my sides. This time, without his warmth, I did shiver from the cold.  
  
“I’d thought…in my mind, so many times…but, now I… _shit_. You are…are…beautiful. Just breathtakingly...beautiful.”  
  
Bullshit. I’ve seen beauty and it sure as hell wasn’t me. Scrawny and pale. Not a golden body with hair in all the right places, thighs and arms and back made to carry the weight of the world and the perfect anchor when the fuck gets wild. That was beauty. That was perfection.   
  
But speaking of fucking…   
  
Now was not the time for a debate on the aesthetics of the male form. Now was the time for male bodies to start slip-sliding together.  
  
“Well?”  
  
“Well, what?”  
  
“Me, I’m naked.” A little hand trip south with a layover at my nipples, just to illustrate the obvious. The choked groan proved I had his attention. Good. “But, not begging, and for damn sure not getting fucked.” One small hip push, and my ever-impatient cock thrilled to the feel of my hand. “Looks like I’m ready for my close up, Mr. DeMille.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Not the right answer. “What, plans changed without me being consulted?”  
  
“The sight before me is too spectacular not to linger over.”  
  
Oh, no. This wasn’t good. He said there would be begging involved here. He promised begging. Got all work up and ready to plead my heart out and now he’s just going to sit there and ogle me? I wanted begging, goddamnit! “Just looking won’t get you your begging, you know.”  
  
“Don’t be too certain of that.”  
  
“Can’t even see you!” I snapped the blindfold for emphasis. _Fuck_! Must have pulled out a big chunk of hair with that little stunt. “Not happening.”  
  
“Is that a challenge?”  
  
“No, it’s fucking fact. No begging until you get over here and -”  
  
“Then the gauntlet has been thrown.” His voice slithered sultry in my ear.  
  
“ –oh, _god_.”  
  
Back in the elevator, when his threat/promise had jolted through my body, I was picturing that huge cock of his - the sensation of it still tingling my crack - would have me begging for mercy by now. Or maybe his hands holding me safe while they pumped me dry. His mouth, even, and tongue too, making me melt like they did at that first kiss. Nope. Got none of those. Nothing, actually for what seemed like fucking hours except the occasional finger brush – which was technically against Hoyle’s Rules, but I wasn’t really in a position to lodge a formal protest – in strategic spots, a chuckle once in a while when I whimpered, and that intense sex-filled gaze, made all the more erotic because I couldn’t fucking see it, only feel it envelop my body.  
  
“Don’t move.”  
  
Couldn’t help it. Not when his fingertip traced down my spine.  
  
“Don’t speak.”  
  
Hard as hell not to groan when his tongue flicked my nipple.  
  
“Don’t worry.”  
  
Don’t worry? Couldn’t see him, but sure as hell could feel him. His energy, circling around me, sometimes so close his heat whispered across my skin. A deer in headlights, a mouse backed into a corner, I was caught, trapped. I just stood there trembling, dripping on the floor being stared at like a piece of meat, want burning from the inside out to scorch my pride to a cinder, determined to prove him wrong, way past embarrassment at being so desperate as the word slipped from my mouth to his.  
  
“ _Please…_ ”  
  
“What’s that?”  
  
“Please…not even…to fuck…just, please…please…just _touch_ me.”  
  
“Come here, love.”  
  
Wrapped in his arms, in his kiss, I did some wrapping of my own – legs around his waist, leaning in, digging in, intent on sharing some of that exquisite torture with my tormentor.  
  
“Goddamn sneaky bastard.”  
  
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”  
  
“A compliment the only thing you’re going to take?”  
  
“You mean, like umbrage? Or even pause?”  
  
“No, was thinking more like you taking the low road.” Nothing like a good _double entendre_. Nothing like him holding my ass, either. “Or you could always take liberties, or advantage, or better yet, you could just take meeeeeee – SHIT!”  
  
Table. Hard table. Cold hard table. Fucking cold hard table that -  
  
“Just lie back.”  
  
\- wasn’t bothering me so much anymore.  
  
“Goddamn! That’s…uh…oh…so…”  
  
I was mumbling, but my cock was sure as hell singing praises to his hand job. Balls joined in the chorus, too as they rolled between his fingers.  
  
“Did not think it was possible.”  
  
He didn’t think what was possible? That he could make my toes curl with just his voice? That he could steal my every thought and care with just a flick of his tongue? That with the slide of his spit-slick fingers in he made my body his?  
  
Sorry again. Guess getting sucked off and finger fucked just brings out the romantic in me.  
  
“You are even more beautiful like this.”  
  
“You’re not going to stand there and just look at me again, are you?”  
  
“Well, I was entertaining the thought, yes.”  
  
Since I was lying there drooling and babbling, twitching and writhing, completely naked with my knees hanging in mid air, cock so hard it was probably purple, with three fingers up my ass, I figured my last shred of dignity had left the building and was in a cab on the way to LAX by now. I had nothing to lose except the greatest climax since the Big Bang.  
  
“Just put away the brie and those little cocktail napkins, shithead, ‘cause the only entertaining you’re going to be doing is with your cock on my prostate!”  
  
“Brie? I would never serve something that pretentious.”  
  
OK, angry and indignant didn’t work. He said he wanted begging. So, I gave him fucking begging.  
  
“Oh, god, please, do it now! Fuck me, fuck me!” Even put that hitch in my voice guaranteed to melt even the harshest critic. “I want you! Take me, stick your cock in, fuck me, please, please, oh, god! Just fuck me _NOW_!”  
  
It has been said that under the most convincing performances lies the truth. Well, my truth was lying there naked, too and I was playing to the second balcony.  
  
“Fuck me, _please_!”  
  
“Never brie. But, I would consider serving strawberries and cream.”  
  
The most fantastic sound in all the world: the snap-pop of lube opening.  
  
“Afraid after all of this, I’m not going to last for too long. Sorry.”  
  
I couldn’t help it.   
  
“What so damn funny?”  
  
“You’re not going to last?” Laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “Because of you, in about three seconds _I’m_ going to paint the ceiling when I spurt.”  
  
“Well, then I better make those three seconds good.”  
  
“That’s right you damn well – oh, _fuck_!”  
  
His touch was not tender and gentle like before. He thrust with one push, hard and straight in, not stopping until my legs looped over his forearms, my ass left the table, and I winced from his bite to my neck.  
  
“Oh, oh, god…you and…this…never… _shit_ …miss…want…no…love…”  
  
It was all babble, but my heart understood every word.  
  
“Me, too. Now, _fuck me_.”  
  
And he did.  
  
“You…you…still…got…your…your…shirt…on…”  
  
For some reason I found this incredibly sexy – me totally naked, him dressed. Sexy and convenient for a place to grab on when my sweaty back started to slip backwards across the table. His balls would slap my ass five times, his cock reaching damn near my throat, and I would have to snatch at the fabric to pull myself back, not ever wanting to lose that precious connection.  
  
“Not…so…hard…”  
  
“See…I…I…was…going…to…say…say…harder…”  
  
Three slaps now, the tiny squeaks of skin on wood an irritating distraction, but I was definitely reaping the benefits of his increased effort.  
  
“Better…better…for…OW! Shit!”  
  
And just like that I lost my grip, lost my rhythm, nearly lost my fucking mind when he stopped.  
  
“What the fuck?”  
  
“No more. You’re pulling my chest hair out when you do that. Hands off.”  
  
“No way. I can’t see you and now I can’t touch you? No _fucking_ way!”  
  
Sweat trickled down my sides from his soaked shirt when he leaned over to forcefully place my hands, stretching them out to the sides of the table. “Hands stay here.”  
  
“I want to touch you, damnit!”  
  
“Believe me we’ve already got that covered.” A slow pulse of hips was given as a reminder.  
  
I arched, conceding that point, but I wasn’t giving up on the hands issue without a fight. “But -”  
  
My protest was swallowed whole by his mouth, and any other argument I might come up with in my defense was sucked out by his lips.  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”  
  
“Oh, yeah?” My fingers curled around the edges.  
  
Laying down a line of sloppy kisses on my thighs, a hand on each ankle, he pushed up and out. “Always.”  
  
Three seconds or three days, didn’t have a fucking clue how long we lasted. I just held on tight, thanking everyone from the dentist to my agent to the angels above that decorum and restraint seemed to be sitting this one out and he was finally as wide open as my legs.  
  
“ShitshitshitshitSHIT! Fuck! There! Harder! Right _there_!”  
  
“Yes…yes…yessssssss!”  
  
Now, _that_ was beautiful! Head thrown back, face all shiny, eyes scrunched shut in concentration. His t-shirt was dripping, hugging the straining contours of those muscles I lusted after earlier, all the hair plastered flat to his skin. He heaved in every breath, a counterpoint to his thrusts, lips moving in a silent mantra – a single name that brought peace and passion together.  
  
The shirt hung too low and my ready-to-explode cock was in the way so I couldn’t see where he was…  
  
Oh, yeah. All that shoving back and forth across the top of the table had pushed the blindfold away. And since my hands were too busy gripping the edge – gouging permanent marks into my palms - and he was otherwise occupied fucking my brains out, I didn’t want to bother him with silly little details like that. I just left it alone, allowing it to push further up my head.  
  
Besides, I wanted to see him!  
  
…plowing into me, but I sure as hell could feel it, every body jerking, pleasure zinging, climax inducing plunge.  
  
“Oh, god, oh damn, oh, shit, oh _god_ damn, oh, oh, oh ohohoh _FUCK_!”  
  
Didn’t reach the ceiling, but sperm my balls hadn’t even produced yet did fly over my shoulder.  
  
“I’m coming…I’m com…I’m…I’m…I…I…GHRGNNNNNN!”  
  
His warmth spread as he unloaded inside me, and blanketing the outside as he collapsed forward shaking and gasping. Could swear we practically glowed, a beacon of sexual satisfaction.  
  
“Fucking awesome! Kinky, but awesome nonetheless.”  
  
“Wanted to surprise you.”  
  
“Surprised the _hell_ out of me! How’d you know where?”  
  
“Hannah.”  
  
“Got to remember to thank her.”  
  
“Just leave out the sordid details this time, please.”  
  
“Those are her favorite parts.”  
  
“So she said.”  
  
A sweaty sandwich, neither of us had the strength or desire to move. Even forgot about the fucking cold hard table. Didn’t want to waste a second worrying about comfort when I had him like this and all to myself.  
  
“Vacant office?”  
  
“Twenty-four floor.”  
  
“Didn’t know they rented by the hour.”  
  
“Deal with the leasing agent.”  
  
“How much?”  
  
“Promised to read his screenplay.”  
  
“Shit. That’s expensive.”  
  
“Worth every cliché and trite line of dialogue.”  
  
“You know I’m going to get slapped with a fifty dollar No Show fee, and it’ll be another…three…months…”  
  
All ready to start cursing the San Andreas and its lousy timing when I realized it wasn’t the building shaking the table shaking us. It was the other way around.  
  
His attempt at not crying really sucked.  
  
“Sorry…so sorry…”  
  
With arms and legs and soul, I held him tight, wishing I could take back my words, wishing I could find some that could solve the problem, but knowing both wishes were futile. “Hey, hey, it’s OK, it’ll be alright.”  
  
“I just couldn’t…had to see…be with…can’t stand… this….anymore… so…sorry.” His explanation/apology panted heavy against my ear, his wringing wet hair rubbing my cheek.   
  
“Nothing to be sorry about. I wanted it, wanted _you_.”   
  
The bruises on my ankles and ass would take some fast talking to explain away, though.  
  
“That’s my problem. I want you _too_ much.”  
  
“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me. More like a blessing.”  
  
“A blessing,” Sniffing, he moved his previously boneless body off and up, looking truth right in my eyes. “And a curse.”  
  
I wanted that blindfold back. Didn’t want to see it, that real world in his eyes, didn’t want this fantasy to end. Could be fuckng forever before the next time; could be fucking never again, too. “Grabbing me in the elevator like that was hot! Never thought you’d come up with -”   
  
But, end it did with the sound of the Back Street Boys.  
  
“Shit.” He stood up rather awkwardly, stiff and sore and fuck-weak as he was, swiping at his teary eyes, and fished the cell phone out of his pocket with a chagrined shrug. “Ali’s idea. Hello?”  
  
The conversation was short, and I tried my damnedest not to fill in the blank before his clipped ending. “Yeah, me too.”   
  
“How long?”  
  
“Back tonight.”  
  
“Sucks.”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
He helped me dress with a hell of a lot less enthusiasm then when the clothes came off, while I tried to keep resentment and rejection out of my voice.  
  
“Next time?”  
  
“Real soon.”  
  
“I’ll wait.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Desperation, that’s what his kiss tasted like. And hopelessness and despair hugged me, before he walked away, pausing at the door to whisper, “I love you,” before he disappeared.  
  
“Yeah, me too.”  
  
Left alone in an empty office, I took the stairs back down.  
  
Everything is fucking fantastic – my career’s riding high, I’m in demand and able to take the time to pick and choose the projects I care about. I own my own home. I have a beautiful girlfriend and money and fame and the icing on this cake of mine is that I’m in love with a married man, and none of that other stuff really matters.  
  
Like I said, life is a goddamn crazy ride.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
